


Through Hell or High Water

by bradleymartin



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, Lifeguard Raphael, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Simon sucks at swimming, lifeguard AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 08:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8242351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bradleymartin/pseuds/bradleymartin
Summary: When Clary drags Simon to his local pool, he’s immediately smitten with the gorgeous but completely unapproachable lifeguard.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you swim every morning and have nothing better to do than think about Saphael!

Clary drags him unceremoniously to their local YMCA, saying something about _reciprocity_ and _exercise_ and then that key word: _free_ , which was the only thing that could’ve convinced poor college student Simon to so much as leave his dorm room. So he reluctantly pulled his faded black swim trunks out of the back of one of his dresser drawers and consented — as always — to being swept up in Clary’s plans. He regrets it as soon as he meets her by the pool; sure, he likes seeing her violently purple bathing suit as much as any guy would (even though he got over his crush a couple years back) but there is the small detail that he can barely swim.

He clings helplessly to the side of the pool as she starts piling her orange hair on the top of her head. He sends a quick glare to the _7 FEET_ warning sign on the side of the pool that looks particularly ominous when he considers his own five feet eleven inches. He looks back at Clary and sees that her hair has been arranged in such artful disarray that he doesn’t know why she’s bothered to do that when she’s about to dunk her head in a whole vat of chlorinated water.

It makes a little more sense when she starts to tug a matching purple swimcap on _just so_ and he sighs, bored, and glances around the pool. He breathes a little sigh of relief when he spots a lifeguard meandering aimlessly around the pool, but that breath instantly catches when Simon realizes that it isn’t just any lifeguard, but a _beautiful_ lifeguard. A red tank top tragically on over his swim trunks, a don’t-fuck-with-me expression that’s almost as scary as the threatening water, and black slicked-back hair that doesn’t look like it’s ever so much as touched chlorine. But he certainly has one of the most beautiful faces Simon has ever been fortunate enough to lay eyes on. He meets Simon’s gaze but his face doesn’t come close to shifting from impassivity. Simon’s eyes are bugged out and his mouth has popped open, so he rapidly tries and fails to compose himself.

Clary dips delicately in the water, giving him a wide smile as though the pool isn’t just one giant death-trap. “Come on,” she says with a giggle, and starts swimming an elegant lap. Simon groans but follows suit.

He manages two fulls laps before he gives up, hoisting himself out of the water and onto solid ground, feeling irrationally grateful. That’s when he notices the lifeguard passing by again, and he forgets that he should probably breathe to make up for the fact that he’s still panting. “Hey,” he blurts out.

The lifeguard stops abruptly and looks at him. “Morning,” he says, not sounding friendly at all, but Simon barely notices because of his silky-smooth, utterly beautiful voice.

“I’m Simon.”

He pauses for a second, eyebrows quirking upward. “Raphael.” He pauses again, longer this time, looking out at the pool. Simon looks back, too, and sees that Clary has moved onto the butterfly that doesn’t have any right to look that graceful. “Couldn’t keep up with your girlfriend?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Simon says too quickly and emphatically, whipping back around to face him.

Raphael looks him up and down, smirking a little. Simon feels his face flush, not sure what Raphael is even looking at. “Well,” he says finally in the same dry, bored tone, “have fun waiting for your not-girlfriend, Simon.”

-

Raphael doesn’t like it.

Every day Simon comes in, swims two laps, and then stops. Raphael has practically been conditioned to look up at the sound of the locker room door opening, just to see if it’s Simon. He comes every day sometime between nine and ten; just irregular enough to annoy Raphael, but not irregular enough that he could hope Simon might not come for the day.

Only that first day was with the little ginger Raphael never learned the name of. Ever since, Simon has come completely unaccompanied, swimming his two, sometimes three, laps without any skill, finesse, or honestly anything that gives Raphael any indication that he’s safe to swim without being in danger of drowning.

At least, that’s what Raphael tells himself for the first couple weeks: he watches Simon like a hawk because he’s the only one who’s a drowning hazard. But after a while, Simon can swim up to five laps with the bare minimum degree of competency, and Raphael still finds himself staring.

Of course, Raphael usually only has old people around, so Simon is objectively more interesting and more attractive by default. That curly, dark hair looks good wet. That’s the only thing Raphael will admit to Magnus when Magnus teases him about the new boy at the pool. Then Raphael teases him about that pretty Alec Lightwood boy relentlessly pursuing him and Magnus shuts right up.

Raphael knows he must be a college student; only retirees and college students come at such an awkward time mid-morning like that. Even then, the pool is usually almost empty when Simon is there. It gets more torturous, just watching him, as the days go by. His perfunctory _good morning_ and _have a good day_ are getting downright irritating for reasons that Raphael can’t pin down even to himself.

-

Every day for the last four weeks Simon has been trying to get up the nerve to talk to Raphael. Sometimes he almost starts swimming over to that little lifeguard stand, but then he realizes he doesn’t know what he’d say. And considering Raphael already stares at him like he’s thinking of increasingly violent ways to end his short life — as if the water itself isn’t already terrifying enough — Simon certainly doesn’t want to do anything that could dock _even more_ points from whatever scorecard Raphael must be keeping.

But that day there’s only one other person in the pool on the complete opposite end, so Simon takes his life in his own hands and swims over to Raphael. He leans out of the pool a little with a smile. “Hey,” he says. _Too breathy_ , he inwardly curses himself. _You aren’t a fucking teenage girl._

“Morning.”

Raphael glances away from him, looking completely unimpressed — which makes sense, Simon reminds himself, since it isn’t like he’s actually done anything. Other than managing two consecutive laps without needing to stop and pant between them, which is a feat that could only be impressive to Simon himself.

“How’s your day?” Simon presses.

Raphael’s perfect eyebrows raise slowly, not as though he’s surprised but maybe like the full extent of Simon’s idiocy is slowly dawning on him. Simon feels his face heat up under Raphael’s stare, wondering how he’s _ever_ managed to ask out anyone before, considering he can barely string a sentence together.

“It’s fine. You?”

The response sounds so perfunctory that it makes Simon wonder if there’s a clause in whatever YMCA handbook that says something like: _Employee must make an attempt to put up with every moron who makes his way into the pool area_.

“I, uh, have an exam later, so I should probably be studying.”

“What class?”

“Financial. Um, Financial Accounting, I mean.”

Raphael is looking a bit more normal despite the fact that Simon is wondering if maybe he’s losing his own grasp on the English language. “You’re a business major?” Raphael asks politely.

“Accounting.”

Raphael nods. “I’m doing the whole Finance and Management double-major thing.”

“Awesome!” Simon finds himself blushing again, mentally berating himself for the thousandth time during their short conversation, just because he’s really getting excited by how _elated_ he feels that they’re having the smallest semblance of a normal conversation.

“Have you ever thought about taking swimming lessons?” Raphael asks eventually. Simon balks a little at the suggestion, which Raphael clearly senses because he immediately continues, “Adult classes, I mean. Lots of people do.”

“Do you teach it?”

There’s a half-smile that appears on his face that makes Simon forget all about the fact that this boy is (understandably) insulting his nonexistent swimming abilities. “No,” Raphael says.

The fact that he’s lost total control of his brain is the only explanation Simon can come up with for the fact that he then replies, “Then what’s the point?”

Raphael laughs. Actually _laughs_. Simon grins and chuckles a little, too, leaning forward a bit more. Raphael is leaning far down now; they really aren’t that far apart, and Simon can’t help but think that he looks even more stunning from this close.

Then the locker door slams and they’re pulled out of their reverie. Simon sends a glare at the old lady who tentatively sticks her toes into the water even though this is an indoor pool and therefore always the same regulated temperature. He feels a little bad about his irrational anger, but it’s more understandable when he meets Raphael’s eyes again and sees that Raphael is back to once again looking completely unconcerned with Simon. Simon wants the magic back, but it’s broken. Maybe he even imagined it.

“Well, good luck on the exam,” Raphael says absently.

Simon takes that as his cue to leave, so he climbs out of the pool, unable to decide whether or not he’s imagining the way Raphael’s eyes sweep over his body and the way he sits back looking maybe a little disappointed when Simon walks out.

-

“How can you tell if a boy likes you?” Raphael asks unceremoniously when he gets back to his dorm suite.

Magnus practically chokes on the tea he’s drinking, and Raphael is embarrassed a little too late that he’s asking Magnus about a _boy_ when he’s _never_ asked Magnus advice about anything, especially not boys. Especially when one particular boy is driving Magnus mad right now. Raphael wouldn’t have risked what’s sure to be a deluge of questions, but he’s made polite chit-chat with Simon for a full two-and-a-half weeks even though he _hates_ small talk and he’s going completely and utterly _crazy_.

“Ah, this Samuel, right?”

“Simon,” Raphael corrects impatiently.

Magnus grins widely. “You talk to him every day and you aren’t sure?” He clicks his tongue in what Raphael imagines to be a condescending way.

“Yes,” Raphael snaps, even though _he’s_ the one asking for advice.

“Do you _like_ him?” Magnus leans forward, clearly ready for about an hour of gossip — the _exact_ shade of brown of his eyes, probably, and maybe every _single_ word they’ve spoken to each other — and just the thought of it makes Raphael’s stomach turn. He hasn’t liked nearly enough boys to make this conversation tolerable. He just knows that Simon is driving him insane.

“Magnus.” He tries to put as much of a threat as he can into the two syllables. He thinks that he’s about as threatening as a stray puppy, but Magnus sits back with a small, contemplative frown on his face. Raphael gives a sigh of relief, glad he dodged at least one bullet.

“Do you still wear that hideous red tank-top every day?” he asks, shuddering theatrically.

“Well, yeah?” Raphael answers, instantly annoyed again that Magnus seems to be slipping back into irrelevance — as he’s so inclined to do.

“Go shirtless one day,” Magnus suggests with a regal wave of his hand, tone earnest but with that smirk back on his face. “I think that’ll clear up any uncertainties you have.”

Raphael’s eyes narrow. “Seriously, that’s the advice you’re giving me?”

“Just try it out, darling. It’ll work.” Then Magnus grabs a magazine from the coffee table and puts it in front of his face. Raphael gives a silent sigh and turns to leave, but as soon as he gets into his bedroom, Magnus yells, “You’re _really_ not going to tell me about the guy?”

Raphael slams the door for good measure.

-

It’s business as usual when Simon gets to the pool on Monday. There’s only one other person in the pool, but she gets out after Simon has only been there five minutes. He says good morning to Raphael, but Raphael seems particularly brusque and barely even responds.

Naturally, Simon throws glances at him every lap or two — and manages _seven_ , which is almost legitimately impressive, he tells himself — but Raphael doesn’t even seem to have registered his existence. As usual. As always. Simon thinks about pretending to drown — or _actually_ drowning — just because then maybe Raphael would have to look at him.

He’s coming up with increasingly outlandish ways to get another conversation out of Raphael when he finally hauls himself out of the pool. Once he’s shoved his glasses back, he starts to walk in the direction of the locker rooms, when he notices the most glorious sight he’s ever laid eyes on.

Raphael.

_Shirtless_.

Standing all of five feet away from him.

Simon tries to remember if Raphael looked like that when he came in, but Simon knows he could never have neglected to notice _those abs_. He thinks maybe he’s blown all the fuses of his brain, because for a full five seconds, all he can do is stare.

Then he realizes what an embarrassment he’s being — not that _that’s_ anything new — and blushes red as he looks back up at Raphael’s face.

Who is smirking.

“Um,” Simon says with all the eloquence of someone suffering from a severe head injury. “Hi?”

Raphael laughs again and lurches forward, just close enough to grab the back of Simon’s neck and drag him forward. Simon falls towards him, happy to meet him halfway. Then Raphael is kissing him hard, and Simon makes a flustered noise in the back of his throat before opening his mouth and letting Raphael deepen the kiss. He’s spent weeks thinking that Raphael would rather see him _dead_ , but now he’s got Raphael’s bare skin on his, Raphael’s arms wrapping around the back of his head, and Raphael’s tongue sliding against his in just the _exact_ way that makes Simon’s knees feel a little unsteady.

One of Raphael’s hands drags down his bare chest and Simon thinks about two more seconds of that will make him forget that they’re in a public pool that anyone could walk into at any moment, but — sure enough — Simon stops caring almost instantaneously and just hangs onto Raphael like he’s a lifeline.

Finally Raphael pulls back and Simon feels almost dizzy from how good it felt. Raphael’s brown eyes are crinkled into a smile and Simon has never seen anyone so _beautiful_ as Raphael standing there, practically grinning, shirtless, and with lips red from kissing him. Simon leans forward again, unable to help himself.

Simon kisses him softly, just once. Raphael exhales as Simon pulls away. “Can you please just ask me out?” Raphael asks, sounding as dazed as Simon feels.

Simon laughs and then asks, “Will you go to dinner with me tonight?”

“Yeah,” Raphael responds with a laugh, before pulling Simon forward again.

Simon thinks that maybe he’ll just skip his classes for the day.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this for ages, every time I can't handle all the angst from my other Saphael fic (which you should check out if you haven't already). Thanks for reading!


End file.
